


Dreaming

by SkinSlave



Series: Tijuana Bible Study [4]
Category: Marilyn Manson (Band), Penny Dreadful (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Victorian, Blood, Blood Kink, Breeding, Demons, F/M, Sleep, Softcore Porn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-30
Updated: 2019-01-30
Packaged: 2019-10-19 14:41:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,836
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17603267
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SkinSlave/pseuds/SkinSlave
Summary: Spectrophilia and Hematolagnia with Vanessa Ives(Penny Dreadful AU, incubus, bloodplay, breeding mention)





	Dreaming

She was severely beautiful, like a potted succulent. How many men saw only her edges and passed by without a second thought? How many overlooked her bloom? It would have been tragic, had it not been necessary. In truth, they needed her isolated and unloved. That she was trampled and tortured in the process was an unfortunate happenstance.

He pressed against the window, watching her. She was proper, starched, as she studied. Her books and pages gave order in her otherwise tumultuous world. Yet their power waned as the evening closed in. Her demons swirled around and through her, and beneath the angles and planes of her strength she was soft.

He watched her fight the softness until she could no longer. He watched her dress for bed, loosing her dark hair to her shoulders. He watched her pray. It was a futile exercise, a thing she vested with power in the hopes of a moment's peace.

He waited patiently as she laid awake, noting his rising strength. He would need to be near peak to tame her. Of that he had no doubt. Her breathing deepened and he took the opportunity to slip through the glass.

She murmured against his hand and the veil of sleep. His fingers found her lips, full and flushed. She mouthed at them without opening her eyes. She was a woman, after all. He lowered himself into her bed, his pale face broken by a knowing grin.

"Are you dreaming, Vanessa?"

Her eyes fluttered for a moment and she raised her chin. Slowly, her pale irises came into view. They caught the moonlight. Her voice came out small and wispy.

"Am I?"

"I think you are, my girl," he whispered.

He gripped the sheets and tugged them just a bit. She registered the movement and looked him fully in the face. He was ghostly and beautiful, dark eyes dug from the china of his face, matching lips feathered on in oil pencil, graceful cheekbones and raven hair that hung just past them. He was familiar. He was at once sweet and bitter and she wondered fuzzily of which he would taste.

She pushed the blankets away, dragging them from his hand. She arched as she did. The shoulder of her ivory gown shifted and the stitches strained against her collarbone. He gave a startled chuckle.

"What a dream you must be having," he purred.

She was still blurred by sleep, but not so much that she couldn't grip him. She pulled his jaw down and claimed his mouth. He sighed in delight, wondering if she would be far easier than he anticipated. Those thoughts were nipped short by her teeth on his shoulder.

"Have I dreamt you before?" she asked from the crook of his neck. "I feel I know you."

"I haven't had the pleasure."

She pushed him back, suddenly clear-eyed and concerned. He gave a polite smile as she focused on his chest and arms. They were covered with ornate tattoos. She could read some of them: references to the incubus, the lidérc and the mara.

"Marilyn," he said softly, extending a hand in introduction. "You've probably seen me inked in the margins of a few old goats."

Slowly, deliberately, she pulled herself upright against the headboard. Her mouth became stern. He shifted, squaring his body to hers. The room was a coil of tension.

"Do you think you can drain me?" she asked in a cool tone. "Is that your aim? To take from me?"

Marilyn leaned forward, trapping her legs with his body. Somehow his lithe form, all shadow and pallor, wasn't threatening. He took her hand and kissed it. His dark lips left a blush in their wake.

"I want only what you want to give me, Vanessa," he hummed.

The silence between them was heated. He waited, blood rushing in his ears, and watched her face. Her stillness was exhilarating. Women were sweet and pliant and easy, but Vanessa... Vanessa was strong and sharp like whiskey with bitters. He was parched for her, desperately so.

His tongue snuck out to wet his lips. It kindled a flame inside of her. She began to pray inwardly but lost the line of it. More than salvation, she wanted peace. He smelled of it, a perfume that whispered, _touch me, softly... Open your lips... Taste._

The turn in her wrist was sudden. She caught his fingers and pulled them to her chest. He followed, arching, serpentine, to reach her lips. He tasted like some exotic fruit, like leather and incense and honey. She cupped his face in her hands and kept him. The more he opened, tongue searching, the more she sought his nectar.

His hand brushed the loose fabric of her gown, pressed it to her waist. It ran down the swell of her hip to her thigh. She lifted her knee, hooking her leg around him. She huffed into his mouth, dissatisfied, hungry.

"Are you going to take me, demon?" It was a challenge.

He accepted, wrapping his arm around her waist and hauling her roughly. She rolled with him and landed astride his hips. She smiled. It was a wicked thing. Her fingers dug into his chest and shoulders as though she planned for them to take bites.

Marilyn moaned and bucked into her, his manhood hard against the fabric of her clothes. She responded in kind. She had a vicious energy and expected him to match it. Not one to disappoint, he gripped the neckline of her gown and tore it. The ruined slip fell to her waist.

He palmed the fruit of her breasts, full and heavy. She rocked her hips, searching for his arousal. It was caught in the fabric of her gown and they both fumbled to free it. He growled in frustration and caught her wrist, jerking her hand out of the way.

"Yes," she panted. "Take me, devil."

Marilyn obliged, sinking into her body with force. His member was larger than she expected and she balked. Her squeals and gasps did little to help her adjust. Nor did he seem concerned by them. Each thrust drove the breath from her. He grew hot, animalistic, rising to her expectations.

With a low rumble, he rolled her under. She seemed so much smaller, more fragile, as she spread on the sheets beneath him. He rose on to his knees, lifting her hips to keep them joined. His leering form, dripping with tattoos, reminded her of the gargoyles under the eves of the church. He smirked and his canine teeth cemented the association.

"Are you dreaming, Vanessa?"

"I hope not," she whimpered, rolling her hips. "A dream could never fuck me the way I want you to."

Spurred by her obscenity, Marilyn fell onto her, laying lines of kisses over her breasts and shoulders as he plunged. She pulled him into the gutter of her mouth and moaned onto his tongue. He fought the urge to nip at her needy lips. Instead, she held his jaw and scraped her mouth against his teeth.

The trickle of blood was intoxicating. Their kiss spread the thin copper film across their chins. Beautiful soft sounds rose from her chest to slide across it. She hooked one long, pale leg around his waist and jerked, greedy and assertive despite her vulnerability. He sought to tame her with a nip to her shoulder, another tiny puncture, another taste of iron and life.

She exploded with a shriek. Her body quaked and contorted as though possessed. He could feel her center tightening and groaned at the deliciousness of it. The force of her climax coursed through him. He struggled to keep pace. The dark caste were right to venerate her. She was guncotton and obsidian shrapnel. She was power.

She was not finished. She gathered the drip of blood at her shoulder on one long finger and tasted it. Her eyes flashed. She pulled him in tightly, nibbled and licked his neck. She caught his dark hair and forced his face into her cleavage.

He read her desire and bit her soft, perfect mounds, opening the skin. Her strangled moans and the rush of blood surrounded them. As he thrust, giving that delightful stretching pleasure she craved, the crimson smeared between them until they were both pink. The room smelled of raw meat and sex.

"What a dream you must be having."

The words came out as little more than grunts with inflection. Marilyn was losing his reserve. The implications were marvelous. Vanessa ground against him, slick with her own still-flowing essence, steamed supple in the sauna of the room. She arched and smiled at him, inviting, demanding.

He wrapped his arms around her and, with an effortless strength that was not apparent in his physique, lifted her wholly from the bed. She hung in midair, crying out as he moved her body along his member.

He quickened his pace. She reached between them and shamelessly pleasured herself, fingers greased with her own blood, breasts swaying. Marilyn's dark eyes widened at the lurid sight. He stiffened.

"Mark me, demon," Vanessa growled, clawing at his chest with her unoccupied hand. "Flood me. I want it."

Begging for his seed like a common bunter only hastened her collapse. In moments she was lost in another tide of bliss, girlish whimpers frothing on her lips. He dropped her roughly. She squealed at the impact and the loss of his girth.

With a sound like a sail taking on a sudden wind, Marilyn's black wings opened. He gripped his manhood tightly and roared. Far from frightened, the bloodstained brunette spread wide on the mattress. Volleys of his pleasure streaked her torso and wet her lips. Again and again he painted her, rumbling like a dying beast.

Shaking violently and still dripping, he collapsed onto one hand. She hummed at him, rubbing his warmth into her skin. She seemed drunk on it, lazy and soft. He watched her as his own body slowed. Panting and on fire, he lay next to her.

"Why did you not breed me?" she asked, her voice colored with disappointment. "Is that not what the incubus do? Drink a woman's life and leave her with child?"

A nervous smile played on Marilyn's black lips. He cradled her cheek.

"It is," he murmured, "but a dream can do neither. And you are dreaming, are you not?"

"Am I?"

She was hazed and thick like a laudinum drunk. He, on the other hand, was bursting. He'd never felt anyone like her. He wanted for a long moment to take her, to hide her away and keep her as his own. But no... Larger forces had already staked claim. He brushed a lock of her hair away. She moaned, beautiful, fading, peaceful.

"I think you are," he said gently.

He let his broad hand rest on her stomach, a stolen moment before he must leave. Her eyes fluttered and she sank into the rumpled sheets.

"What a dream I'm having..."


End file.
